


Battle of Evermore

by archeolatry



Series: Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel's Mixtape, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, Gen, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, Pining!Cas, Season/Series 08, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: Dean tells Cas to stay in the bunker and 'get better'. This gives Castiel a little time to think.____"Neither brainwashing nor the scourge of Purgatory could efface one simple fact: he loved Dean Winchester...in the messy, fervent, ludicrous,humanway."





	Battle of Evermore

There was no word in Enochian that meant Love; not as humans knew it. Or, rather, none that incorporated all of its facets. Castiel preferred the Latinate terms; they made sense, and they never changed meaning.

Agape was the word that came closest to what he knew --or thought he knew-- love to be: the light of God, the presence of one’s brothers and sisters. Later, he understood it as the fabric of the world--the goodness of people towards one another. Charity, some called it. Love for the many.

Philia, as Aristotle described it, was friendship. Dependability. Those whom you trust and trust you in return. Family that “don’t end in blood”, as Bobby would have it. Love for the few.

Eros was passion and madness; the opposite of logic. The Trojan Wars. The kidnapped wife that made a conqueror of Genghis Khan. Rebellion against Heaven. Love for only one. 

Castiel tried to convince himself that it was agape he felt--that he, in some small way, had created Dean again in God’s image, filling the gaps in Dean’s soul like kintsugi, his own grace as gold. It was natural for a creator to love his creation; as God so loved humanity, so Castiel loved Dean Winchester. 

Castiel was not prepared to see his creation standing before him, still so fragile after all his tender care, believing he did not deserve to be saved. He was, at first, filled with the urge to nurture, to help Dean realize the virtue present in his own soul. To make Dean _feel_ what he had ignored for too long. 

Later came ire: his creation was thankless and willful. Worse yet, Dean held the same questions, the same doubts, that Castiel himself did. He told himself that he was goaded--even tempted--into rebellion by Dean. But no. The tinder was there, Dean merely provided the spark. 

Castiel trusted and respected Bobby. Even Crowley, on occasion, could be dependable. He soon supposed this Love of his to be philia: loving Dean as an ally, a brother in arms against those angels who would bring down humankind. As Dean would say, “that lasted about five minutes”. (Not five actual minutes, of course, but a very brief time akin to it.) 

He cared deeply for Sam and Dean. That he knew. Their raw humanity, their passion. Their goodness despite their flaws. They were as much his brothers as any of the Host had been. But neither brainwashing nor the scourge of Purgatory could efface one simple fact: he loved Dean Winchester. Not in any categorical Latinate way, but in the messy, fervent, ludicrous, _human_ way.

It was that love that broke Naomi's hold. It was for that reason that this morning's fight had hurt far more than any other. He could almost endure the thought of falling out of favor with Heaven, but to lose Dean's trust... 

'We don't need your help.' Those words only salted his wounds, emotional and otherwise. Even Dean's call for him to recuperate sounded like a curse. So, again, Castiel waited to be useful.

He sat on Dean’s bed, immersed in Dean's personal chemistry. Motes of dust were beginning to cling to Dean's mattress, infusing it with sweat and musk. The sheets had the salt tang of semen not washed completely away. Those smells should not have given Castiel lust in his heart, but they did. 

In his desk, Dean kept those secret things that he wouldn’t tell a soul about: a mixtape from his high school girlfriend; a plastic ring he’d meant to give to Cassie as a placeholder for a real one; a piece of sea glass from his first time in the ocean at Myrtle Beach. Dean had never told Castiel any of these things; he merely knew by the mass of their atoms, and the spectre of Dean’s touch. Those impermanent human objects should not fill him with want, but they had. 

He knew which of Dean’s albums was his favorite by the weight of the dust on each. Despite Dean’s professed love of Led Zeppelin, the record that was lightest was "A Night At the Opera" by a band called Queen. (Side one, specifically.) Following--by weight--was "Born in the USA" by Bruce Springsteen, "Aerosmith's Greatest Hits", and only then by the fourth Led Zeppelin' album. Castiel listened to each in turn, hoping to gain some sort of insight into Dean's psyche. 

It didn't accomplish much. 

Aside from a song about a man in love with his car--something Castiel already knew about Dean--the experience only oriented him with the plight of working-class Americans and several new euphemisms for coitus.

He was, however, struck by a song entitled "The Battle of Evermore". While not truly a madrigal, the mandolin and the polyphony fell favorably upon his ears.

_"The sky is filled with good and bad  
That mortals never know..."_

Those words curbed his enjoyment considerably. He almost would have preferred the coitus euphemisms. Those, at least, gave him some distraction.

He was, both physically and emotionally, exhausted to his very core. He could not recall a time that his loyalties had been so divided. Though that, perhaps, raised different questions altogether. His martial air, his devotion to duty...was that innate or programmed? How many of his brothers and sisters had known about this brainwashing? Had he loved any other human as he did Dean? If so, where was that human now?

_"The pain of war cannot exceed  
The woe of aftermath..."_

‘You have never done what you were told,’ Naomi had told him. ‘Not completely.’

She was right. He had been tasked to watch over Dean Winchester, and it was the only order he had not failed to keep. 

_“Father,”_ he prayed, _“how have I fallen so far? How have I strayed so much from my mission?”_

He received no answer; then again, he wasn’t really expecting one.

Castiel glanced at his steepled hands. No longer Jimmy Novak’s, but his own. He glanced around the vessel that had become his flesh--what so many now knew as his ‘true’ form--and sighed.

Would this all have been easier if he had chosen a female vessel? He’d taken on female vessels before, and had often found them sturdier than male ones. But it was not often anymore that a Novak offered themselves to the Host. If the best available vessel was male, so be it.

He hadn’t planned to stay this long. He certainly hadn’t planned on falling in love. 

Perhaps he could prove his love to Dean on human terms. He understood that when lovers were at odds, the offending party presented the other with small tokens of affection, in hope of forgiveness. This often involved gifts of flowers and confectionery. Dean did not care for flowers, and preferred baked goods to confections. 

What _did_ Dean enjoy?

Beer, for certain. Pie--not cherry. A pornographic magazine called “Busty Asian Beauties”. The rather soft kind of toilet paper. Well, perhaps _that_ was more of a necessity than a gift, but it would be useful. Gifts and supplies, yes; that would do for a start.

He placed Dean's albums back just as they were--even stirring the dust to cover his own finger marks. 

He may not have Dean’s love, Castiel thought, but he may yet earn back his favor.


End file.
